Page 64 of Last Slice of Pie

“Losing Jack so early in the game was disappointing and frustrating to our team. He’s such a great player and one of the best guys I know. It was a loss we certainly weren’t expecting, but that’s football. I went back to the sidelines, knowing the ball was coming back to us, and tried to put a plan in place to bring us back out on top. Yeah, we just couldn’t get there.”

Jack. I know when we get home, the fallout from losing him is going to be something we have to work through. The jumbotron showed Bryan’s face after his friend went down, and immediately there was devastation and guilt painted across his features. I don’t know enough to know if someone could be at fault, but either way, Bryan will absorb it as his own, and recovering from that is not going to be easy.

Then again, forging through adversity never is, but we will. I know we will.

As the interview continues, he talks highly of so many of his teammates, praising how well they played, and I know he’s doing this to try to place them all in a positive light where they’re going to be remembered for some of the big plays instead of the loss. From offense to defense and even special teams, he covers them all. My heart aches for the man he truly is. He’s kind, loyal, and so much more than he thinks he is.

Superhero.

Question. Answer.

“You show up, you try to win, and sometimes you lose. That’s just the way it goes. We all know the risks, but we all dream about the reward. If you want to win, if you want to be world champs, you have to play in the game and be at peace with the possibility of losing. I mean, yeah, no one wants to lose, but we’d rather play than not.”

Question. Answer.

“Yeah, there were opportunities, we just never got control of the game. It wasn’t played how we like to play, wasn’t on our terms. Today it was on theirs. It was their day.”

Question. Answer.

“In the first half, we did move the ball, but we didn’t have a lot of points, and ultimately, as you know, points win the game.”

Question. Frown. Scowl. Red-tinted cheeks. Answer.

“Jinx? You know, that word has been tossed around a lot over the last couple of weeks, and, guys, I’ve got to tell you, I don’t like it. We’re here to talk about football, not some perceived supernatural ill-intended spell my girlfriend supposedly cast over me. We all know there’s zero truth to it, and quite frankly, the consistent negative chatter about someone I love—it doesn’t sit well. Show some respect for our families and loved ones. This job is hard enough on them as it is.”

Oh my God.

The question was about me, and he didn’t like it. Not at all.

A silence falls over the reporters and across the other people in this waiting room. A few turn and look at me, some stare openly, and others offer up sympathetic smiles. I should acknowledge them, smile back, nod, or something, but I can’t. Instead, I rememorize every detail of his face as sparks are firing in my head, tripping over him using the words girlfriend and love.

Am I still his girlfriend? I hope so. I want to be.

Does he love me? I hope so. I sure love him.

Never dropping his head, jaw clenched, he takes the time to look everyone in the room in the eye, as if to definitively say, No more talk of jinxes, and then he ends with his gaze on his coach. They communicate nonverbally then he leans into the microphone and says, “Last question.”

Swiss Bacon Bites

PEOPLE ARE EVERYWHERE, and everyone who is not a member of the team—those guys actually understand what I need right now—wants to talk to me. Only, I don’t want to talk, at all, to anyone. Well, maybe one someone.

“Great game.” I’ve heard it over and over for the last hour, but it wasn’t a great game.

We were fucking terrible.

I was terrible.

And now I’m having to deal with the repercussions of it.

I knew the interview questions were going to be hard, questions about our lack of focus on the offensive side, the loss of Jack, how I couldn’t gain control of the game, even Lexi. They asked about her effect on me and how it impacted today’s game. I was chewed up and spat out, and now I’m beyond tired, just completely over it.

Exiting the locker room after changing into my suit, I pass through the lines of security in the short hallway and enter the family waiting room. If there were a way to bypass it, I would, but there isn’t. Inside, there aren’t a lot of chairs, but there are a lot of people—way too many people. You can tell some have been here for a while, and the staff has even set up snacks against the back wall. It smells like seafood, specifically crab cakes, and my stomach growls. It’s unfathomable to me that I could be hungry at a time like this, but somehow I am.

Looking around the room, it’s amazing how different it is today than it was two weeks ago. The voices are muted, whereas last week they were loud, and the air is thick with sadness and anxiety—anxiety I caused. Family members hate to see their loved ones sad, but then again, that’s something I wouldn’t really know much about.

My eyes catch on Billy and Reid, who finished up showering and dressing before me, and both are being hugged by their wives. The sight of them being able to share this moment with someone else, someone just for them . . . it makes me feel more alone than I ever have in my entire life. I lost it all. I lost the season, lost the game that was meant to be mine, but most of all, I lost her.

All around me there are hushed conversations. I hate it. I hate this. I just need to get to the bus, get to the hotel, and then get home, where I need to figure out how to grovel, on my knees, begging for forgiveness.